Lace
by TheRavenLady
Summary: Sherlock was meant to wear lace. John gets a taste of lace, and his pretty pet detective shows him just how lovely lingerie can be. One-shot. PWP.


Sherlock was meant to wear lace.

The black against his skin is a stunning contrast that catches the eye just right. The lovely pattern spreads across that pale skin, and John is aching everywhere at the sight. His mouth waters as Sherlock lounges on the bed, hair mussed from their snogging, those long fingers touching his swollen pink lips. His other hand travels down his chest, over his nipples, down down to the growing erection trapped underneath the lace of his panties.

"Pose for me," John says, his voice husky.

He can hardly control himself as Sherlock does just that, long limbs moving across the bed like he's swimming in honey, those eyes fixed right on him as he turns over onto his stomach and sticks his lace-clad arse into the air, legs spread. He throws his head back, curls falling into his eyes, and cuts a sly look in John's direction.

"Like this, daddy?"

_Shit_.

"God, yes, just like that, gorgeous," he croaks out. "Look at you."

Sherlock's mouth pulls itself into a languid, smug smile. His eyes are bright, his lids heavy, and his cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen and John is so hard it's painful. He strips down, his clothes lost fragments from another lifetime, they are so forgotten by the time they hit the floor. He goes over to the bed, gets on it, feeling it dip as he settles on the mattress.

"Turn back over for me, sweetheart, I want to see you," he whispers.

Sherlock turns over, eyes wide and bright, and stretches out, spreading his long legs and raising his hips off the bed in an invitation.

John doesn't even know what he wants. There are so many things he could take right now… Sherlock sucking his cock, Sherlock being fucked by him, Sherlock riding his cock with those stockings on… The indecision weighs him down for a moment, and he is overwhelmed with his choices.

"What would you like?" Sherlock asks. His voice is deep, raw, strung-out on arousal and desire and need.

John can understand the feeling.

"I… I don't know," he finds himself mumbling. He can't even get his words out; he's so strung-out and turned on and _wanting_ that he can't even think properly.

Sherlock blinks slowly, and smiles even slower, before sitting up and crawling towards John. There is no space between them when he reaches his destination, and he presses against him, their naked skin touching and sending a current through him. Sherlock straddles his lap, draping his arms around John's neck, and leans close, face in his neck.

He starts to roll his hips, grinding against him. The lace of his panties rubs directly against John's cock, and a strangled noise escapes him. Sherlock is moaning in his ear, grinding down hard, and John's hands go to the other man's slender hips, gripping them tightly.

"Fuck, Sherlock," he groans, eyes closing. "Oh my God."

"Better?" He breathes.

John makes a sort of growling noise in his throat as an answer before pushing Sherlock down flat on his back again. He climbs on top of him, straddling him, and holds his arms up, pinning his wrists against the bed.

"Got a better idea," he says softly.

Jumping off the bed and ignoring Sherlock's look of disappointment at the departure, John crosses the room and reaches into one of the dresser drawers, pulling out a tie. Realization dawns as John makes his way back. Wordlessly, he grabs Sherlock's wrists and ties them to the headboard, nice and secure, before getting back on the bed and resuming his seat on top of the detective.

He leans forward and proceeds to give him the filthiest kiss he can, and by the time they are finished, they're both panting and flushed with swollen lips and throbbing erections.

John uses his mouth to make his way down Sherlock's body, making stops to tease his nipples until they're nice and deep pink and standing at attention. He lingers on his stomach, then his hipbones, sucking a gorgeous bruise into the left one. Sherlock moans and cries out under the touch of his mouth as the work is completed.

Finally, he acknowledges Sherlock's obvious erection. It's straining against the confinements of the underwear, and John almost feels sorry, except he now knows how this is going to end and Sherlock doesn't.

When he places his tongue against said erection, even overtop the panties, Sherlock keens. It's desperate, and his hips automatically buck and raise up, his body begging the way his words can't.

"Ah, John," he pants, eyes wide and pupils dark.

"Mmm. I'll take care of you," he whispers sweetly.

He goes back in, licking against Sherlock's cock over the panties, the lace rough against his tongue in a surprisingly pleasant way. Sherlock smells like sweat and sex, and John is so in love with this moment. He spreads Sherlock's thighs farther apart and goes down, licking up from Sherlock's arsehole to the tip of his cock. The response is utterly magnificent, and Sherlock makes a strangled, desperate sound on the verge of a sob.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so beautiful like this," John says before kissing the inside of his right thigh, right where leg meets groin.

He noses against Sherlock's perineum, and the other man squirms, gasping. Unable to resist any longer and wanting to see the ultimate reaction, John brings his mouth back up and licks a long, slow, broad stroke along the length of Sherlock's shaft. He whimpers, and John continues to the head, which he takes into his mouth as best as he can over the panties.

The lace is soaked through with saliva and Sherlock's pre-come, and it's glorious. John thoughtfully sucks the head of Sherlock's cock through the lace, running his tongue over the edge occasionally. He bucks against him, crying out wildly, and John doesn't stop the assault, sucking hard.

"John! Oh, God, John," Sherlock cries, his voice cracking.

John licks down the shaft again, licks across Sherlock's balls, before sucking them individually. He goes back up, massaging the head of Sherlock's cock with his tongue before taking it in again with a hard suck.

"Oh God, please, don't stop, Christ, don't stop."

Sherlock is writhing, and leaking, and John i enjoying every second of this. He licks up and down the shaft, again and again, periodically going back to the head.

"Please, please, don't stop, I'm so close," Sherlock practically sobs.

John sucks his head, hard, and uses one of his hands to massage Sherlock's balls over the panties.

"Tell me how good that lace feels, gorgeous," he says in a hoarse voice.

"Oh, John, please, it feels so good- don't stop, don't stop, please."

He continues, massaging the head of Sherlock's cock with his tongue in between hard sucks. Sherlock is writhing and making all sorts of delicious noises. His thighs are trembling, his hips bucking in rhythm with John's ministrations.

With one particularly hard suck, Sherlock comes with a near scream, hips rising off the bed. A good portion of John's mouth is flooded with Sherlock's come, and he swallows it down. He looks up at Sherlock's face- his mouth is open, his chest rising with his harsh breathing. His eyes are blown wide, cheekbones painted crimson. With a smirk, John runs his tongue over the panties, licking up extra come, and Sherlock makes a sound close to a sob.

John comes back up and cradles Sherlock's face in his hands, kissing him long and slow and deep.

"You're so beautiful," John whispers against Sherlock's throat. He can feel his heart drumming out an ecstatic rhythm, skittering off-beat after his orgasm. "You're so beautiful, and you're all mine."

"Let me make you come," Sherlock whispers.

John is still aching, his cock rock-hard and deep red, leaking slightly. He unties Sherlock's wrists, and the tie slides onto the bed, immediately forgotten.

"Lie back, John. It's my turn to take care of you," Sherlock says.

He doesn't have to be told twice. He lies back. The pillows smell like Sherlock. The whole bed does. He buries himself in the scent as Sherlock moves across the bed. He straddles John, leaning over him. His eyes are stormy, his face flushed with colour. He looks so gorgeous, completely wrecked. His movements are slow, his hands still trembling slightly as he places them on John's chest.

He kisses and licks his way across John's neck and chest, teasing his nipples and leaving a bruise on his collarbone. And after what feels like a lifetime, he finally makes his way down. He spread John's legs apart, a small, satisfied smile on his face, and takes John's cock into his mouth.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck. Oh my God."

Sherlock takes him in deep, swallows him down, and John is wrecked, he's so wrecked, this isn't going to last long at all. He cries out, writhing, and reaches for Sherlock's hair, tangling his fingers in the mussed curls and pulling. Sherlock moans around John's cock, and he is so close to done for.

"Oh God, Sherlock, I'm-"

He's cut off by his own orgasm, rising out of nowhere and hitting with brute force. He cries out, and it takes the air from his lungs. He writhes as Sherlock takes every bit of his come, not removing his mouth until he's got nearly all of it. He swallows the last bit, looking John right in the eyes, and it sends a hot burst of deep arousal through him, despite the fact that he literally just came seconds before.

"God, Sherlock…"

Sherlock smiles as he comes back up, lying on top of John. Their mouths meet, and John's hands go to Sherlock's arse, cupping it, his thumbs running over the edge of the panties and feeling the pattern of the lace. Sherlock makes soft noises into his mouth as John plays with the panties. He smiles as they break from the kiss.

"Better?" Sherlock asks softly.

"Mmm. Much. You…. You should wear these more often."

Sherlock smiles and proceeds to kiss John's neck, working all the way around. John sighs in content and gasps softly as Sherlock nibbles his earlobe. His lips brush the shell of his ear, and John shivers.

"Next time I'll wear the corset."

Sweeter words have never been spoken.


End file.
